


While We Burn

by indiefic



Category: The Bone Season - Samantha Shannon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-14 23:59:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3430364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiefic/pseuds/indiefic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Bicentennary fast approaches in Sheol I.  Contact between the Rephaim and humans is strictly forbidden.  In order to start a revolution, Paige and Warden are going to have to break some very big rules and decide what it means for how they relate to one another as keeper and slave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mind Like Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Contains spoilers for all of The Bone Season and parts of The Mime Order.

Nashira intended to murder me.  Probably not today.  Warden thought she would wait until the night of the Bicentenary celebration.  I was inclined to take his word for it.  He’d been her fiancé for decades.  He knew her peculiar machinations.  Nashira was nothing if not consistent.  Why mess with hundreds of years of success?

 

I took a breath of the biting cold air.

 

Nashira was going to kill me.  

 

I sighed, pillowing my chin on my crossed arms as I stared out across the rooftops.  I wanted to run, but that wasn’t an option.  Not now.  Humans weren’t allowed to be up here.  If someone discovered me, I could be beaten.  Again.  Thuban would love another excuse to use his fists on me.  Gloves or no gloves, he had one hell of a right.  Chat would be jealous.

 

Nashira was at least hundreds, maybe thousands, of years old.  Among other things, she was a binder who murdered talented voyants and chained their spirits for eternity.  I did not want to spend eternity haunting her, watching her torture Warden, enslaving humans.  She was ravenous for my gift, my ability to walk through dreamscapes and to possess others.  What would happen if she could chain _my_ powers to her will?  The thought left me shivering.  I pushed myself to my feet and headed for the ladder.

 

I was going to die in this frigid, stinking penal colony.  After a few years, would my fellow prisoners even remember me?  Would Jules or Liss?  Would I be ‘Paige’, or just 40?  Or would I simply be one of the nameless, faceless, cautionary tales?  A human stupid enough to challenge the Rephaim.

 

My father would never know my fate.  Did he have any inkling of what had happened the night I was hunted down?  Were my grandparents still alive?  Would they go to the Vale and bid my spirit farewell, even though they had no bones to bury?  Just like they did with Finn?  Could they know?  

 

The Seals, at least, would have some idea.  Nick knew where I was, if not how or why.  Jaxon, undoubtedly, would mourn me.  Well, not _me_.  He would mourn the loss of his dreamwalker, his mollisher, his protégé.  He’d be one Seal short of a full complement.  He’d have to find someone new to hock Eliza’s latest masterpiece.  If he hadn’t already.  He probably had.  I wanted to hate him for that, but it mostly just made my chest ache.

 

Nick would never know the full truth of what happened to me.  But Nick _would_ mourn me.  My best friend.  The only boy I ever loved, who never loved me in return.  Not the same way I had loved him.  Not romantically.  I took a deep breath and blew it out hard, watching my breath cloud in the air as I stepped off the ladder and onto the sodden cobblestones in the Magdalen courtyard.  The memory hurt less, now.  Warden, damn him, had been right.  I remembered how closely I had guarded the memory of Nick’s rejection and my own stupidity.  I remembered how I felt flayed open when I knew Warden had seen it all.  And, yet, it felt softer now, more watercolor than daguerreotype.  It didn’t define me as it once had.

 

_“I do know what it feels like.  To be wanted only for what you are.”_

 

Warden’s words echoed in my head.  I did not want to be reduced to the bare facts of my gift.  I did not want to be a jewel for Nashira to possess.  I wanted more.  I wanted - I needed to be _seen_.  If only for a moment.  Before I truly became Nashira’s slave.

 

* * *

He didn’t look up when I walked into the room and closed the door behind myself.  He was sitting at his desk, writing.  “Michael left a note,” he said, waving a gloved hand in the direction of the mantle.

 

When I didn’t move, or respond, he looked up.  “Paige?”  Whatever it was he saw in my eyes caused him to go very still.  

 

This wasn’t some dark and crowded amaurotic flash house.  Arcturus Mesarthim was not some watery amaurotic boy.  And my need, while still desperate, was no longer directionless.  

 

I knew exactly what I wanted.  To touch the fire.

 

He stood and took a step back, motioning toward the door to my cold, little tower room.  “You should rest,” he said.  “It is almost morning.”

 

I shook my head slowly and then pushed away from the door, making my way to his bed.  I pulled back the heavy velvet drapes and sat down.  Not exactly the most finely executed seduction, but Warden and I both tended toward the practical.  I clasped my hands in my lap and waited.

 

The bed depressed under his weight as he took a seat next to me.  He did not reach out to touch me, but he said, “You’re cold.”

 

I shrugged.

 

“If the Overseer or Thuban catch you on the rooftops again, they will hurt you.”

 

I shrugged again.

 

His gloved hand reached out, hovered above mine and then clenched into a fist and returned to his own thigh.  Very softly, he said, “I hate to see you hurt.  Please, Paige.  Go upstairs.”

 

I looked up at him.  He was so much taller than me that our faces weren’t terribly close.  But I could see the softness in his eyes.  He was ancient and inhuman and so much more scared for me than I could ever be for myself.  I shook my head, then with a small smile, I kicked off my boots and shrugged out of my uniform before crawling between the sheets of his bed.  I had slept here before, usually when I was so badly damaged that Warden though I might die.  Tonight, things were different.

 

He sighed, staring determinedly at the far wall.  “It is forbidden, Paige.  You know this.  Rephaim and humans are not allowed physical contact under any circumstances.  It is her ruling.”

 

“Yes,” I said.  “I know.  And I know you aren’t nearly as good at following Nashira’s rules as you want everyone to believe.”

 

He turned then and looked at me, lips pursed in a frown.  If I thought there was any chance he cared for his demonic betrothed, I would never dare anything like this.  But he hated Nashira, even more than I hated Nashira.  She treated him like a dog.  She was insane, I already knew that.  But for her to think Arcturus Mesarthim could be brought to heel - she was well and truly mad.

 

“Is there a word for it?” I asked.  “Among the Rephaim?”

 

His eyebrow arched in question.

 

“For a Rephaite to ... “ I swallowed hard, “ _lie_ with a human.”

 

I swore I could see the beat of his pulse in his neck.  He wet his lips with his tongue.  “Flesh-traitor,” he said.  “And for the blood-consort, a capital offense.”

 

I was aware of how hard my heart was beating, how breathy my voice sounded.  “So, it has been done before?”

 

He didn’t take his eyes from mine.  He nodded slowly.  “It has.”

 

I shifted restlessly against the soft sheets.  I reached out, placed my hand over his.  Slowly, I drew his hand to my abdomen and pulled at the tips of his gloves until his hand was free.  His skin was hot, it burned through the thin sheets into my cold flesh.  “I need - “ I stopped, swallowed.  “I need to see and to be seen.  For the whole of who I am.”

 

He closed his eyes, lowering his chin.  I was using his own words against him.  It was manipulative, but it was also true.  He opened his eyes and looked at me.  “Paige,” he said with a pleading note in his voice that shattered me to hear, “I see you.  I have _always_ seen you.  I _will always_ see you.  I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

I nodded.  “I know,” I said.  “But I need.”

 

I felt his resolve crumble.  I don’t know what imagined horror he was trying to spare me.  The Rephaim weren’t what they seemed.  He’d told me that.  But when I demanded to know why he took me from Nick, he had refused to answer.  He needed me for something.  And maybe he wanted me too.  Just a little bit.  I couldn’t imagine what appeal I could hold for a creature like him.  But he hadn’t kicked me out of his bed yet.  I was going to take that as a good sign.

 

He stood, scrubbed his bare hand over his face and walked to the door, bolting it.  He pulled the heavy drapes against the coming dawn and blew out the oil lamp.  I scooted to the far side of the bed, propping myself up on my elbow.  The fire burned low and I watched as he removed his remaining glove and then his clothes.  His back was to me.  I knew what to expect.  I had seen his dreamscape self.  But seeing his scars in the flesh, the proof of Nashira’s cruelty, almost gave me pause.  She would kill him for this.   _Well_ , she would try.  

 

Naked, he turned to the bed.  I remembered the first time I had ever seen him, at the Oration, months ago.  I thought then that he was the single most beautiful and terrible thing I had ever seen.  I wasn’t sure I felt too differently now, as my heart hammered in my throat.  But unlike the night of the Oration, his eyes were soft.  He was no longer some cruel stranger.  We were in this - _whatever this was_ \- together.

 

He lifted his knee onto the mattress and stared down at me, probably waiting to see if I was going to bolt for the tower.  Admittedly, he wasn’t entirely wrong.  Some part of me screamed for me to run.  But another, stronger, part of me had no intention of leaving.

 

“You’re shivering,” he said.

 

It was true.  I nodded and rolled onto my back.  “Warm me up,” I said.  It was a challenge and he knew it.

 

He smirked down at me and shook his head.  I was inured to danger.   That’s what he said about me.  I’m pretty sure he meant that I was an idiot.  He was probably right.

 

My breath caught as Warden slid between the sheets.  Our feet tangled.  Or rather, my feet tangled with his shins.  Damn, but he was a giant.  And warm and ...  I made a sound deep in my throat as I moved closer to him.  His skin radiated heat.  Touching his flesh was like touching the aether, like paying homage to the very essence of what I was.  He nuzzled the top of my head as he pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me.  “ _Paige_.”

 

This was madness.  I knew it and I didn’t care.  Not today.  Not now.  I ran my fingers over his chest, over his perfect honey golden skin.  His physical proportions were nothing short of exquisite.  I knew why Nashira found it easy to convince humans that the Rephaim were gods.  

 

His hand came up and brushed my hair back from my face, tilting my head up toward his.  His lips covered mine and I groaned, my fingers biting into his arms.  This was nothing like that desperate night in the Citadel.  This was oil and fire.  I pressed closer to him.  My chest rubbed against his and he broke off the kiss, turning his head to the side as he breathed heavily.

 

I didn’t know what he was doing, but I wasn’t going to give him a chance to think better of this.  I kissed along his neck, biting gently.  His fingertips dug into my hip for one painful moment before he seemed to remember himself and stop.  He dipped his head again, catching my lips as he rolled me onto my back, leaning over me.

 

Reflexively, I pushed at his chest and he immediately stopped.  The only sound in the room was the sound of our breaths.  I wanted him.  I wanted him so much.  But ... “I - “ I started to say.

 

Without a word, he rolled away, onto his back.  My mouth opened and I was about to protest when he pulled me across his chest, draping my body across his.  He moved me like I weighed no more than one of Liss’s silks.  He captured my lips in a brief, hard kiss before he said, “Better?”

 

I licked my lips.  “Yes,” I said.  Not at all sure that I meant it.  I no longer felt trapped, but now I’d put myself in the position of directing the proceedings.  Draped across him as I was, I could feel the hard length of his sex against my inner thigh.  I had no idea what to do.  One miserable encounter against a car park wall that ended in vomit and blood was my only experience.  The Rephaim didn’t seem overtly sexual, but Warden was immortal.  Surely he knew more about this than me.  He was Nashira’s fiancé for fuck’s sake.  “I ... I don’t - “

 

His hand came up, stroking my hair back from my face, his thumb lingering on the small scar on my cheek.  “There are no expectations here, Paige.  You can do nothing wrong.”

 

Easy for him to say.  But I did feel a bit better.  I turned my face into his hand and pressed a kiss to the center of his palm.  He pulled me closer, hitching me higher up on his chest and drew my head down to his.  He nipped at my lips, slowly and then pressed harder.  He encouraged me to open my mouth and I did so gladly.  His tongue sought out mine and I groaned again.  Fuck, he _tasted_ like the aether.  Or at least how I would imagine it to taste.

 

I ran my hands over his chest, his shoulders, feeling the movement of sinew and bone beneath his perfect flesh.  His aura and dreamscape were all around me, overwhelming my senses.  But I wanted it.  I wanted it all.  His left hand found my breast and he cupped me gently.  I waited, waited for ... I’m not sure what.  Rejection?  To be found lacking.  Those had never been among my best assets and months of starvation hadn’t helped.  But Warden didn’t seem to mind as he caressed me.  The rough pad of his thumb played lightly over my nipple, sending shivers down my spine.

 

He kissed me harder, deeper and I surrendered completely.  His other hand traced down my side, stopping at my hip.  I was aware of how I was moving against him, rubbing against him and I was embarrassed, but too inflamed to stop.  His hand abandoned my breast and he gathered me close with that arm, rolling me slightly onto my right hip.  His other hand, the one that had been at my hip, worked between our bodies and brushed against the wiry hair that covered my sex.  I broke off the kiss and gasped, but he didn’t stop.  His fingers pressed against me, parting me, rubbing against me where I was so hot and wet.  There was a tiny thought in the back of my mind that I should be ashamed, but I just couldn’t give a damn.

 

He rubbed me while his lips found my jaw, working their way up to my ear.  His teeth bit gently against my earlobe.  “Please, Paige,” he said, his voice deep and hoarse.

 

I pulled back and looked at him, barely able to see him in the dim light.  “What?” I asked, sounding every bit as breathless as he.

 

“Let me taste you,” he said, almost pleading.

 

I had the feeling I was withholding something he wanted, but truly I had no idea.  He’d been tasting me, just as I had been tasting him.  And then I realized what he meant.  My face blank, I gave a small nod.

 

He immediately rolled me onto my back, abandoning his caution of moments earlier.  His lips found my chest, my breast, his tongue circling my nipple as he moved farther down the bed.  His torso was between my legs.  One of his hands cupped my breast as his mouth covered the other, biting gently on my nipple.  I arched against him, driving my shoulder blades back into the mattress as I stared up at the dark canopy.

 

He bit down again before abandoning one breast for the other.  My fingers tunneled through his coarse hair, holding him against me, as his tongue laved my breast.  His free hand went to my sex again, pressing, parting, rubbing against that tight, hot knot of want.  I panted openly, a sound of need escaping my throat.  I could feel something like a growl rumble in his chest before he moved lower, kissing and licking and biting along my ribcage.

 

His tongue dipped into the hollow of my bellybutton and my heels fought for purchase against the slick fabric of the sheets.  His mouth was at my hip, then lower.  He rubbed me the whole time, stoking the fire.  He hooked my right leg over his shoulder and the sole of my foot grazed against his scars.  He didn’t seem to notice.  Then the rubbing stopped and his fingers parted me and, oh god, his mouth was on me.  I yelped, my hips arching against him.  He held me down, open, as he licked and licked.  My fingers fisted in his hair.  It had to hurt, but he didn’t stop.  He made a sound of pleasure deep in his throat as he licked and sucked at my heated flesh.  I was panting, whining, trying to press against him harder.  One of his fingers found the entrance to my body and traced the circle of flesh before dipping inside.

 

It was all I could take.  With a shout, I saw stars, arching against him, trembling.  He kept me there, cresting the wave, his finger delving deeper, licking harder.  As the sensation ebbed, he withdrew, pressing a final kiss low against my belly.  My whole body was slick with sweat and I couldn’t stop trembling.  He moved my now-limp thigh from his shoulder and made his way back up the bed, cradling me against his side.

 

I lay there for a long time, fighting for breath and composure in the face of something so raw that it laid waste to my defenses.  This is what he’d meant.  Oil and fire.  Oh my god.  I felt seen.  Exposed.  Stripped.  And he ... _hadn’t_.

 

He was Rephaim, inhuman, but humanoid.  But surely they ... didn’t they?  Pressed so tightly against him, I still felt him there, hard.  I trailed my fingers down his chest, across his ribs, to his hip.  He caught my hand, brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss to the inside of my wrist.  “ _Paige_ \- “ he started.

 

But no, damn him.  No.  I was done surrendering.  I wasn’t going to be spread out like a fucking Novembertide buffet while he remained untouched.  I sat up and pushed at him, forcing him onto his back.  He studied me in the half-light, his expression guarded.  But he didn’t resist.  I crawled over him on all fours and moved down his body, graceless but determined.  That should be my epitaph.

 

I stopped with my thighs straddling his and pushed myself into a sitting position.  His head rested on one of the rumpled pillows and he watched me closely.  His hands were at his sides on the mattress, his fingertips touching my splayed knees.

 

“Paige,” he said gently, “this isn’t necessary.  I’m not some clumsy human boy.”

 

I just stared at him.  He loved lies of omission.   _Old wounds_ instead of _scars_.  He never said he didn’t want me to touch him, just that it wasn’t _necessary_.  His fiancée chained him to a wall and used one of her ‘geists to scar him.  She withheld his amaranth when it suited her sadistic wants.  This wasn’t about what was necessary for him to survive.  This was about Arcturus Mesarthim being wanted for more than simply what he was.  And, truthfully, I wasn’t even sure what he was.  But I wanted him.  And he needed to be wanted.

 

His rigid sex was heavy against his belly.  I had no idea what to do.  My blundering tryst hadn’t included fondling the goods.  Danica, in her more acerbic moments, had implied that any touching was generally considered good by most males.  But she probably meant amaurotic boys.  Most assuredly she meant _humans_.  

 

Warden took a deep breath, waiting, as always.  I trailed my fingers over his thighs, to his hips.  I splayed my fingers, my palms pressing against his hip bones.  His breath caught and his sex ... twitched.  Was that supposed to happen?  I looked at his face.  It was passive, but his breath was too rapid and I could see a sheen of sweat across his chest.

 

Now or never.  Slowly, I touched him.  His breath caught.  I didn’t stop.  His flesh was hard and so very hot.  I trailed my fingers over him, feeling the shape, the length of him.  I traced up and down, my fingers circled him gently.  He was breathing hard now, panting.  His fingers bit into the mattress.  I ran my palm up the length of him and then back down, allowing my fingers to trail over the head of his sex.  He groaned and in a swift moment, caught my wrist.  I thought he was going to stop me.  But his hand closed around mine and he showed me how to grip him, hard, far rougher than I ever would have tried.  Up and down we stroked, my hand held in his.  His other hand found my thigh and his fingertips bit into my flesh.  I knew where this was leading and while I wasn’t opposed, this wasn’t what I wanted either.  I stopped.  He kept going for a moment, but stopped as soon as he realized I wasn’t participating.  HIs eyes, which had been pressed shut, found mine.  I moved his hands away as I crawled up his body.  He swallowed thickly.  

 

“Paige - “

 

I ignored him.  I reached between my thighs and grasped his rigid length.  His breath hissed between his teeth.  I felt ridiculous, but I was going to finish this, dammit.  I held him as I tried to slot his body against my own.  His hands found my thighs again, but he didn’t try to stop me.  I felt him there, against me.  How the fuck was this going to work?  Why did I have to pick a goddamn _giant_?  I pushed down against him and there was pressure.  He was so big.  But my flesh was slick and willing.  I slid down slowly, feeling the delicious pressure of him inside me.  He groaned, open mouthed as his neck arched back in the pillow.

 

It seemed to take forever, but finally, my hips rested against his.  His thumbs played at the inside of my thighs and he looked at me.  I couldn’t do it.  I couldn’t meet his gaze.  I looked at his chest, my eyelids falling shut as I slowly rose over him.  His hands were firmer on my hips, urging me to rise and fall.  He tried to touch me where we were joined, but I pushed his hand away.  It was his turn.

 

It wasn’t long before his breathing was ragged.  His hands were no longer gentle as I rose and fell.  He slammed me down one final time and choked back a growl, the muscles in his neck standing out in harsh relief.  I watched him fight for breath, watched him come back to himself.  He looked at me and our eyes locked.  He pulled me up his body and rolled to his side, gathering me close.

  
His face was almost touching mine.  He opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again.  He held me tighter and dipped his head, kissing me deeply.  I drowsed against him, dimly aware of him pulling the covers around us.  “Sleep, little dreamer,” he said.

 

END CHAPTER


	2. Like Moths to the Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for all of The Bone Season and The Mime Order. One line of dialog taken directly from The Bone Season.

When I woke, Warden was gone.  Not unusual, though everything else was.  I could still see the faint glow of sunset from behind the drapes.  I pushed myself out of bed and crossed the room, shutting myself in the bathroom.  I avoided the mirror and tried not to think about how I must look.  

 

I hadn’t slept well.  A lifetime of solitude.  It was uncomfortable sleeping next to another voyant, especially one as powerful as Warden.  His aura and dreamscape were in constant contact with my own.  I felt overwhelmed.  I’d woken several times, only to have him coax me back to sleep.  

 

I stepped under the shower and gasped from pain.  My nipples were sore.  I turned my back to the spray and looked down.  My breasts were tender to the touch.  I pressed fingers to my lips.  They were swollen too.  How was I going to keep this a secret? I knew everything about me looked freshly fucked.  Not that I could do much about it.  I didn’t even have a cravat to hide my lips.

 

Meatspace was usually that, _meatspace_.  Nothing special.  As much practice as I had blocking out various injuries, I was uncomfortable with how aware of my body I was.  I pulled on my yellow tunic and then the gilet, determined to ignore the way the coarse material rubbed against my skin.  Warden and I had shared far more intimate exchanges than last night’s heavy breathing.  I’d been in his dreamscape.  We shared a golden cord.  Why should a quick fuck change anything?  I knew I was lying to myself and I didn’t really care.

 

The night bell had already pealed.  I asked the night porter for numa, which she handed over with her usual sour frown.  She seemed to take no more notice of me than any other night.  Maybe I wasn’t as obvious as I feared.

 

It was raining again.  I made my way to the Rookery, trying to avoid the larger puddles.  My toes were already frozen and I didn’t feel like adding damp to the equation.  Liss was in her shack, along with Julian.  I crouched down next to her, wincing as the muscles in my thighs pulled.  Neither of them seemed to notice.  In fact, neither of them seemed to take much notice of me at all.

 

Liss offered me the last of her skilly, but I shook my head.  She shrugged and finished it.  Julian watched her the whole time.  He looked afraid.  Afraid to believe she was back.  We all owed Warden a debt for that.

 

“How’s business?” I asked Jules.

 

He shrugged.  “Not bad.  Not great.  Someone needs to talk to Duckett.”

 

“I’ll do it,” I said.  “I have business with him anyway.  No luck getting back in Tom Tower?”

 

He shook his head.  “Felix tried yesterday.  Security’s too tight since Kraz.”

 

I nodded, crossing my arms over my chest.  That one was my fault.  Not that I’d do anything differently.  Liss needed that deck.  But killing the Sargas blood-heir made it harder to slip by unnoticed.  The Rephaim were on alert.

 

“You find out anything more about the train?” Liss asked.

 

I shook my head.  “Nothing yet.”  The train was integral.  It was our way out of Sheol I.  It was our way back to London.  Our way home.  For the first time since I arrived in Sheol I, the thought of returning to the Citadel gave me pause.  What about Warden?  Despite having seen him in London, I couldn’t really imagine him there.  Not for longer than it took him to hunt down his prey.  I pushed the thought away.  No use worrying about it.  We had to survive first.  Then we could worry about other things.

 

“Rymore, you’re up,” Cyril yelled.

 

Liss frowned, but rose to her feet and grabbed her bag of silks.  Too many people had already spent too long covering for her.

 

After Liss left, Julian rammed his head back into the plywood behind him.  Not hard enough to damage himself, but hard enough to vent some frustration.

 

“Who’s she performing for?” I asked.

 

He shrugged, his expression bitter.  “Everyone.  No one.”

 

I knew what he meant.  Liss was a talented acrobat, but that wasn’t the point.  The point was in making her perform, anytime and anywhere they wished.  It was about control.

 

“We’ll get out of here, Jules,” I promised.  “All of us.”

 

* * *

I could hear the gramophone before I reached the door.  I stood in the hallway for several long moments, contemplating turning tail and running.  I was many things, but a coward really wasn’t one of them.  I put my hand on the door and pushed it open.

 

Michael was there, looking over Warden’s shoulder as they studied a document on the desk.  They both looked up.  Michael nodded to me and then looked back to the document.  Warden’s gaze lingered.  I had no idea what he was thinking.  Not that I ever did.

 

“Paige,” he said, inclining his head toward me.

 

I nodded in response and crossed the room, slipping behind the drapes that hid the door to my tower room.  There was absolutely nothing I needed on the floor above.  The room was the definition of spartan.  Even Michael would know that.  Hell, Michael was Warden’s personal slave.  Surely he already knew.  Someone had to change the sheets.  Fuck.  The last thing our rebellion needed was a romantic entanglement.

 

I was tired and cold.  Despite the thoughts swarming my mind, I dozed, lingering in my sunlit zone, running my fingers over the poppies.  I was aware of Warden on the floor below.  Not because of the golden cord, for which _I_ still had to find a use.  But simply because of the weight in the aether created by his dreamscape.  My spirit longed to roam, to venture beyond the walls of Sheol I.  But I didn’t have a PVS-2 handy.  It wasn’t practical.  Not unless I wanted my body to die while my spirit was away.

  
  


I knew Warden was ascending the stairs, but I remained in my sunlit zone.  Maybe I was a coward sometimes.  He took a seat on the edge of my bed and waited.  He was exceptionally good at that.

 

“Paige?”

 

I took a deep breath and opened my eyes.  “I have no idea what to do.”

 

“You don’t need to _do_ anything,” he said quietly.   _Again._

 

I wanted to hit him for that.  Both because it was true and because it was so damn frustrating and vague and completely unhelpful.  I rolled onto my side toward him.  “I just - “ I started and then fell silent.  “I don’t know how to act.  I don’t know what we are now.”

 

He bowed his head, his hands clasped in front of him.  He didn’t look happy.  I didn’t know what I had expected, but somehow I didn’t think that fucking him would make him more distant.  Clearly, I had taken something wrong.

 

“What _we are_ has always been complicated,” he said.  “Keeper and slave, mentor and student.”

 

“Fuck-buddies.”

 

He turned and looked at me, his lips pursed together in a frown.  I’d have said he looked scandalized, but Warden never showed that much emotion.  Or any emotion, really.

 

“ _Oh_ ,” I said.  “I forgot.  Rephaim don’t have fuck-buddies.”

 

“The Rephaim,” he said stiffly, “do _not_ have fuck-buddies.”  The way his lips formed around the words reminded me of how Thuban spoke to humans.  Like such a thing was heresy, beyond comprehension, abhorrent.  

 

How had I not noticed what a tight-ass Warden was?  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped.

 

He looked at me for a long time.  “It means that once a Rephaite is mated - “ he motioned with his hand.  He frowned and dropped his hand, like I simply wasn’t capable of understanding what he was trying to explain.  “A Rephaite is mated.”

 

I watched him carefully.  “For how long?”  

 

“Forever.”  

 

I swallowed, well aware that when Warden said _forever_ , it meant something quite different than what I meant when I used the word.  He was immortal, unchanging, incredibly hard to kill.  He could quite literally mean eternity.  Fuck.

 

“So you and Nashira - “ I asked, unable to finish the thought. I just couldn’t go there.

 

“No,” he said.  He shook his head, lips curling in disgust.  “No.  By all the grace in the Netherworld.”

 

A thought occurred to me.  “So last night was - “

 

Unembarrassed, he met my gaze.  There wasn’t much expression on his face, but if I had to guess, I’d say he was being patronizing.  Speaking slowly for the stupid human.  “It’s not like that, Paige.  Not with the Rephaim.  Mated doesn’t necessarily literally mean the joining of flesh.  We are not intrinsically beings of flesh.”

 

 _Oh._  Well that cleared up exactly nothing.

 

“It means - “ he searched in vain for inadequate human words.  “ _More_.”

 

It sounded way better in Gloss, I was sure.  I shook my head, considering his words.  For a Rephaite, to be mated, had nothing to do with the flesh.  It was _more_.  Without the flesh, what was left?  Especially when the whole race emoted as well as a brick wall?  I knew I was being difficult.  I couldn’t help it.  But I did actually want to understand what he meant.  Even if it hurt.  “Like caring for someone?”

 

He looked away. “It means far more than simply caring for someone,” he said quietly.  “I care for many beings, but I am not bound to them.”

 

“I see,” I said.  I didn’t.  I thought of Liss’s deck.  The one Kathryn burned in the fire.  I thought of the Lover’s card.  And the golden cord.  Is that what he meant?  Was that what bound us together?  I wasn’t his mate.  I got that much.  I wasn’t a Rephaite.  I was merely a human.  But he was pretty adamant that I wasn’t some ... _convenience_ either.  I was pretty sure I was about as inconvenient for him as it got.  I wasn’t a nightwalker.  I wasn’t a fuck-buddy.  I had no idea what I was.  A mistake probably.

 

I laughed humorlessly as the irony of the situation hit me.  Most of my life I’d just wished I could be normal.  And there really wasn’t anything more normal than this.  A girl wondering what she meant to a boy.  Why did my most human moments have to center around my romantic humiliations?  Especially when this mistake wasn’t even human.  That was a new low, even for me.  “Does Michael know?”

 

Warden looked at me.  “He does,” he said soberly.  He dropped his gaze, his vision fixing on some point in the aether I couldn’t see.  “Michael is the only one who can know, Paige.”   He turned back to me.  “No one else can know.  Not even Liss.”

 

I swallowed thickly and looked away.  Michael, Warden’s mute slave.  He probably wasn’t capable of betraying Warden, even if he wanted to - which, I was certain, he did not.  Michael would take Warden’s secret to the grave.  Now, I was the only loose end left.  

 

“I got it,” I said.  “I’ll keep my mouth shut.  Wouldn’t want to damage your reputation.”

 

He grabbed my arm, probably harder than he intended, his gloved fingers biting into what little muscle I had left.  He pulled me into a sitting position, facing him.  “You have to understand, Paige, it is _forbidden_.  The gloves are Nashira’s decree.  To forego them would make me a blood-traitor.  She would demand my death.  But to _consort with a human_ \- “  He stopped, his gaze boring into mine.  “That would make me a flesh-traitor, a rotmonger.  A crime recognized by all Rephaim, the Sargas and those who stand against them.  It is one of the gravest of the flesh-crimes.”

 

I willed myself not to cry.  I finished crying that horrible night with Nick.  “I got it,” I said, disgusted with how weak my voice sounded.  “You never dirtied yourself with me.”

 

My tone seemed to snap him out of it.  He looked at his hand where he gripped my shoulder and he released me quickly.  

 

“Do not mistake my passion for agreement,” he said softly, his voice pleading, though he didn’t look at me.  “There is no shame in what we shared.”  He took a deep breath.  “But do not underestimate how gravely the other Rephaim would react.  If the truth of our relationship were revealed, you would be in great danger.”

 

“Nashira’s already planning to kill me.”  That was low, but true.

 

He frowned.  “It would be worse than death.”

 

I turned myself so I could throw my legs over the side of the bed.  I didn’t know what could be worse than what Nashira already had planned for me, but I was learning that the Rephaim could give Jaxon a run for his money in the creativity department.  I wanted nothing to do with that.  

 

I sat next to him in silence for a long time.  Finally, I pushed myself to my feet and headed for the stairs.  I stopped at the top.

 

“I understand why it was a mistake,” I said, trying to keep my voice as neutral as possible.  “Trust me, it won’t happen again.”

 

I didn’t give him a chance to reply.  I bolted down the stairs.  I stopped at the desk long enough to grab a blister pack of the salvia capsules and I was headed back to the Rookery.  The second look I got from the night porter was even darker than the first had been.  She could go fuck herself.

 

The rain was harder now and the wind had whipped up.  The hail would start any minute.  Liss’s shack was deserted.  I didn’t know if that was good or bad.  I wasn’t exactly fit company.  And I couldn’t tell anybody why I was so angry.  Not that I would, even if I could.  I had been stupid enough to fuck the guy who enslaved me.  How twisted was that?  The Rephaim orchestrated the persecution and torture of people like me.  We were filth to them, nothing more than a source of food and entertainment.  And here I was screwing one of them.  Well, I _screwed_ one of them.  Past tense.  I was worse than the bone-grubbers.

 

I searched through the various shacks and tunnels.  It took half the night to find Tilda and her useless group of courtiers.  They were all reigning.  It took me nearly an hour to get Tilda lucid enough to speak.  In the end, she was helpful.  She gave me the name of a hisser who could get me the white aster I needed.

 

I looked at the white aster and for one second, considered taking it myself, rather than saving it for Duckett.  I wanted nothing more than to forget it all.  But I was nothing if not the full collection of my scars.  Oblivion wasn’t my thing.

 

* * *

Despite the weather, Duckett was doing a brisk business.  Tonight wasn’t going to be the time to discuss the freelancing I intended to force him to do.  Maybe tomorrow.  I tucked the pills back inside my gilet.

 

I didn’t want to go back to Magdalen.  I didn’t know if Warden would be there.  He often wasn’t.  But I didn’t want to risk it.  I was angry with him.  I was angry with myself.  I was ashamed to face Michael.

 

In the end, I was spared.  Neither Warden nor Michael were in Warden’s room.  I hurried up to my tower room and pulled the thin sheet over myself without bothering to take off my uniform.

 

I dreamed of Jaxon again, as the pale sun burned its way across the sky.  Of one of the very first assignments he gave me, to keep tabs on Haymarket Hector after he and Jax had a particularly nasty dust up.  The PSV-2 equipment was bought second hand on the cheap and both Danica and Jax were nervous as hell.  Not that Jax would admit it.  When I made my way back from the aether, he was beside himself with joy.   _O, my lovely, the world will be ours_.  I’d been scared, but filled with such a sense of pride. I had a long history of dancing for my puppeteer.

 

I woke before the sun had completely set.  I blinked and rubbed my eyes.  There was a new uniform waiting on the end of my bed.  I changed quickly and then stood in the middle of the room for long minutes.  Warden was downstairs.  I could feel him there, but I could sense nothing about his emotions either through the aether or the golden cord. 

 

Taking a deep breath, I headed down the stairs.  I couldn’t avoid him forever.  He was my keeper.  And I needed his help if I was ever going to get out of here.

 

He was there, sitting before the fire.  He stood as I entered the room and gestured to the empty chair.  This familiar ritual felt so alien.  Stiffly, I took a seat.

 

“You look more rested,” he said.

 

“Yeah - “  I wanted to say something pithy, something hurtful about how uncomfortable it has been trying to sleep next to him, but there was nothing.  “Yeah,” I said again, quieter.

 

“I have a proposition for you,” he said.

 

I finally looked at him.  “Oh, this should be good.  Am I going to be a nightwalker after all?”

 

He ignored my comment.  “What if I handed you your freedom tonight, Paige?  Would you take it?”

 

I looked him up and down.  “We already played this game, remember,” I said.  “For Liss’s life.  I told you, I’m staying.”

 

He stared into the fire.  “I release you from the debt for Liss’s treatment.”

 

I stood up, hands fisted at my sides.  “Who the hell do you think you are? You can’t release me from the debt for Liss’s fucking life.”

 

He looked up at me and frowned.  “I hurt you,” he said quietly.  “I did not intend it, but I did.”

 

“Yeah,” I said.  “You’re an asshole.”

 

He took a deep breath.  “This is so much bigger than you understand, Paige.”

 

I snorted.  “Bigger than Nashira and Weaver and new penal colonies in France and who the fuck knows where else?”

 

He looked at me somberly.  “Yes.”

 

I had no response to that.  I wasn’t sure I could take much more of learning how deep this poison went.

 

“I know how I must seem,” he said, staring into the fire again.  “And for that, I am sorry.  As I told you before, I do not wish to harm you.”

 

“And yet, you do,” I snapped.  Tormenting my captor probably wasn’t my smartest move, but I’ve never been one to make rational decisions in the heat of the moment.  “You seemed like a pretty enthusiastic participant the other night and then before I even have time to get my fucking boots from under your bed, you’re explaining to me that I’m filth and we can both be killed for _consorting_.”

 

He looked at me and I swear, one of his eyes twitched.  He wanted me to keep my voice down.  I dared him to say it out loud.  Fuck him.  Fuck all the Rephaim.  Giant condescending fucks.

 

“ _Why didn't you just let me go_?” I yelled.  “That night, on the bridge.  With Nick.  Why didn’t you let me go home?  Why did you drag me back here?  So you could treat me like trash?  So you can get me to lead the uprising against your crazy ass fiancee?  This is _your_ mess.”

 

“Astute observations, all of them,” he said.

 

“I fucking know they’re astute!” I yelled.  I was beginning to feel like an idiot, but I didn’t care.  I was so angry with him.  If I could give him a nosebleed, I would.  But I couldn’t so I spared myself the embarrassment of trying and inadvertently passing out into the fireplace.

 

“I’m curious, do you actually want an answer, or do you simply desire to castigate me?” he asked, somehow without sounding a bit petulant.

 

“Of course I want an answer.”  That time, I managed not to yell.  But I was still angry, breathing too hard and too fast.

 

He threaded his gloved fingers together as he stared into the fire.  “I brought you back,” he said, “because I could not find the strength to fight her without you.”

 

Of all his possible answers, that one had not occurred to me.  He was Arcturus, Warden of the Mesarthim.  He was the blood-consort of Nashira Sargas.  He’d led an uprising against the Sargas dynasty and lived to tell the tale.

 

“I need you to understand the gravity of our situation, Paige,” he said quietly.  “And I apologize for my lack of finesse, but I would hurt your feelings to spare your life.”

 

“I didn’t realize they were mutually exclusive,” I said.

 

He frowned.  “They are not.”  He took a breath.  “Perhaps I am too scarred after all.  I have forgotten.”

 

I sat down, perched on the edge of my chair.  “Forgotten what?”

 

He looked at me.  “Forgotten how to hope.  How to care.  Please do not confuse my lack of grace with a lack of intention.  I would do anything within my power to keep you safe.”

 

“Including pretending we are nothing more than keeper and slave,” I said.

 

“Even that,” he agreed.

 

I shook my head.  “So why are you trying to get rid of me?”

 

“I have come to realize,” he said.  “That as much as I fear to face Nashira alone, I am more afraid of losing you.”

 

I blinked and broke his gaze.  It was my turn to stare into the fire.  “Even if I ran, there’s no guarantee I’d make it back to London.  And even if I did, it’s not like Scion won’t still be after me.  I can’t forget what happened here.”  I looked at him again.  “I can’t keep this place a secret.  I won’t.”

 

His lips pulled up in a sad smile.  “I know,” he said quietly.  “That’s why I need you.  You have enough fire to fuel a rebellion.”

 

“Is that the only reason?” I asked.

 

He shook his head.  “No, Paige.  That’s not the only reason.  I have many purely selfish reasons for wanting you here that, much to my surprise,  have nothing to do with destroying Nashira Sargas.”

 

“But you’re afraid,” I said, voicing the truth between us.

 

He gave a curt nod.  “I am afraid.”

 

“Well, lucky for you,” I said, “I am considerably harder to kill than I look.”

 

He smiled a small, wry smile.  “I had noticed that.”

  
END CHAPTER


	3. Bondage and Belonging

 

I left Warden to his contemplation.  He’d been cradling a goblet of red wine in one hand when I left, though considering he didn’t have any amaranth to cut it with, I wasn’t sure it would have much effect on him.  Aside from the wine and the amaranth, I’d never seen Warden consume anything.  Maybe he just got bored.  That would be just like the Rephaim.  To eat and drink out of boredom, oblivious to the humans starving to death around them.

 

In the interest of not starving, I headed for the Rookery.  The skilly was cold and the toke could crack a tooth, but it was something.  I tossed back the last of the skilly, trying my best to hide a grimace as I wound through the warren of tunnels to Duckett’s shop.  The julker was standing watch outside as usual, his eye now healed.  He didn’t ask me for the password before he waved me in.

 

* * *

I tucked the bag inside my gillet as I dusted the last of the white aster off my hands.  Duckett would be out for quite a while and he shouldn’t remember anything when he finally came ‘round.  We needed his skills, but we couldn’t afford his cowardice.  He may not have been the traitor of Bone Season XVIII, but I wasn’t going to provide him with any opportunity to be the traitor this season either.

 

I found Julian and Cyril in Liss’s shack.  Without a word, I dropped into a crouch next to Julian and gave Cyril the evil eye.  

 

“Uh, yeah,” Cyril said lamely.  “Let me go check on Rymore.”  He ducked beneath the thin sheet that served as a door.

 

“You see Duckett?” Julian asked.

 

I nodded and pulled the bag of Duckett’s mixture out of my gilet.  Julian quickly tucked it away behind one of Liss’s crates.  “What is it?”

 

“Purple aster and sleeping pills, mostly,” I said.

 

Julian raised an eyebrow.

 

“I’d rather not do things halfway,” I said by way of explanation.  We needed all of the bone-grubbers incapacitated.  Given what I saw of their meals, they all tended to imbibe the wine freely.  A few glasses of our special mixture had to be enough to put them all down before the Bicentenary celebration was in full swing.  

 

“And Duckett?” he asked.

 

I held out the empty bag which had contained an eighth donop of white aster.

 

“You really aren’t one to leave things to chance, are you?” he asked, eyeing the empty bag.

 

I just smiled, fully aware of how insane I must look.

 

The curtain stirred again as Liss slipped inside the drafty shack.  She tossed her bag of silks into a corner and took a seat between me and Jules.  She was stronger, I knew that.  But she didn’t look stronger.  Weak gruel and stale bread would never be enough to nurse her back to health.  She was running on fumes and debt.

 

“Cyril and Nell are in,” Liss said.  “And Duckett’s julker, Jos.”  She was shaking and probably not entirely from the cold.  Julian wrapped an arm around her middle and pulled her close.

 

I reached over and touched her arm.  “I’ll be okay, Liss.  Anything’s got to be better than this.”

 

Her eyes darted to mine and then away again.  “Not sure that’s true,” she said quietly.  “But I don’t have the strength to fight them and the two of you.  And after what Warden did - “

 

I nodded.  She was right.  Warden put himself in considerable danger to give Liss a way back to her gifts.  If any of the humans present had breathed a word of what they’d seen, Warden would have been tortured at the very least.  He gave of himself for no reason other than to show the harlies, and possibly himself, that there was hope.

 

I pushed myself to my feet and brushed dirt off my yellow gilet.  “I need to take care of a few things,” I said.  With a nod I left Liss and Jules, huddled together in the dark and cold.

 

I zipped the gilet up as high as it would go and tucked my chin.  Head down, eyes up.  The habit of a lifetime.  I took a meandering route north, down deserted streets from two centuries ago.  My destination was a disused building on the far of the Great Quad.  I removed the key from its hiding spot and sprung the lock, slipping inside.

 

These used to be wine cellars, according to Warden.  Maybe that’s where he got the wine he drank, though, no, probably not.  Surely that came by courier just like the food the bone-grubbers ate.  I couldn’t help but think of Warden sitting in his room with his goblet.  Was there any comfort in the ritual, even if it didn’t have the amaranth’s restorative properties?  I didn’t know.  But considering the extent and severity of Warden’s scars, I doubted it.  He was in pain.  He’d been in pain for weeks, ever since Nashira cut off his supply of the healing essence.  

 

I negotiated my stay in Sheol I in return for his last dose of amaranth.  I didn’t regret it.  The amaranth, along with Warden’s blood and knowledge, had saved Liss’s life.  But I didn’t like the thought that I’d caused him pain, however unavoidable.

 

I sighed, feeling far more compassion for Warden’s position of the previous day than was comfortable.  As absurd and forbidden as my entanglement with Warden was, in many ways we were alike.  Neither one of us had the knack for caring or being cared for.  Too much collateral damage.

 

I crawled on all fours through the low tunnel before arriving in the larger room within.  I hunted for the box of matches and lit a lamp.  I could turn on the electricity, but I didn’t need it.  There was no point in potentially drawing attention to our safehouse.  I wasn’t intending to hack into Scion’s computer records tonight.  I just needed space to think.

 

I ran through our plans again, devised largely by Julian.  He was surprisingly good with tactical preparations, far better than me, in truth.  Our network of conspirators was steadily growing. We’d stockpiled supplies.  The plan was taking shape.  It might actually work.

 

My eyes were burning by the time I turned to the map.  The Port Meadow.  That was the key, the entrance to the train, our only way back to London.  The map wasn’t going to give me any answers.  Not tonight.  It wasn’t going to suggest a solution for my feelings toward Warden.  I needed to get back before dawn.  I blew out the lamp and crawled through the dark tunnel again, carefully locking the door behind myself.  

 

Magdalen was quiet.  I suspected that Nashira must be holding court, preparing for her big party.  I knew Warden would be there, face impassive, deportment impeccable, all the while imagining ways to kill her.  Nashira was crazy, but not stupid.  She had to know Warden despised her.  Why would she choose him, of all Rephaim, as her consort?  Warden said he knew what it was to be wanted only for what he was.  But what was he?  Other than Nashira’s favorite toy?  With a groan, I pushed the thought away.  Rephaim, despite their looks, were not human.  I was never going to understand their motivations.  I needed to figure out how to keep the humans of Sheol I alive.

 

I was just pushing my way through the door to Warden’s suite of rooms when Michael appeared at my side.  He looked troubled and I realized that he was carrying a large box.  He held it out to me and I took it.  It was about the size of my backpack and light for its dimensions.  

 

“From Warden?” I asked.

 

He shook his head and the look on his face was all I needed.  “ _Nashira_?”

 

Michael nodded.  Oh fuck.  What twisted bit of mischief was this going to be?

 

I nodded to Michael and took the package inside the room.  Warden had left the gramophone playing, but Sinatra wasn’t doing much for my nerves tonight.  I set the box on Warden’s desk and then backed away, looking at it.

 

A present.  From Scion, by the looks of it.  The package was wrapped in shiny black paper and topped with a large, red ribbon.  I took a deep breath.  I might as well get it over with.  I was pretty certain that when Nashira killed me, she would do it with her own hands.  The present likely wasn’t lethal.

 

I lifted the lid and it slid away from the base.  I set it on the table and stared into the box.  

 

Carefully, I removed the dress.  It was white, chaste, with elbow length sleeves and a demure, square cut neckline.  The fabric would cling, probably so they could make sure I wasn’t hiding a weapon.  There was a pair of ridiculous heeled white ankle boots to match.  Those wouldn’t be any help in our revolution, but it didn’t look like there was much I could do about it.  Next to the boots there were several cosmetics, a face powder, a blush, a bright pinky lipstick.  She apparently wanted me to look like a good and well kept human, as opposed to the sacrificial lamb.

 

I shook my head in disgust, throwing the dress back in the box.  This whole thing was beyond perverse.  I headed up to my bed.

 

* * *

I hadn’t been asleep long when something dragged me awake.  I blinked quickly, taking note of the fact that the sun had risen behind the shutters. I glanced around the room. Warden.

 

I willed my hammering heart to still.  He was sitting there, at the foot of my lumpy little bed.  I pushed myself up on my elbows and looked at him, but he didn’t move.  I noticed that in his hands, he held the white dress.

 

I pushed myself into a sitting position.  “ _Warden_?”

 

I wasn’t sure he’d heard me, but slowly, he turned to face me, his expression bleak.  “Nashira sent this.”

 

His expression gutted me.  It was raw in a way I’d never seen him.  I nodded.  “Guess you don’t like white, huh?” I asked, trying for levity.  I knew it was a mistake as soon as the words left my mouth.  Warden was not okay.

 

He pushed himself to his feet and paced my room in tight circles.  “Paige, you have to go.”

 

I watched him.  I wanted to make some smart reply, but I stopped myself.  For once.  I pulled the sheet around my naked body, tucking it under my arms and stood.  I moved closer to him, stepping into his path, forcing him to stop pacing and face me.  He looked down at me, his expression grim.

 

“I can’t run,” I said quietly.  “We both know that.  We’re all in.”

 

He flexed the hand that held the dress and I was reminded of the night he’d smashed the gilded mirror downstairs, in a rage after a volley of Nashira’s threats.  “You’re leaving,” he said, grasping my upper arm in his free hand.  He headed for the stairs, forcing me to run on tiptoe lest he pull me across the room.

 

“Warden - “ I protested, vainly trying to pull free.  When we reached his room, my feet finally found enough purchase for me to stop myself.  Reluctantly, he stopped too.  

 

“We don’t have time,” he said.  He released my arm and headed for his armoire.  He pulled out my backpack and a clean uniform, black rather than yellow.  “I’ll get Michael,” he said, absorbed in his plans.  “The two of you can leave now.  It won’t be easy.  You’ll have to make the entire trip along the tunnel line without help, but you can get to safety before she realizes.  I will do what I can to save the the humans in the Rookery.”

 

I felt like the eye of a storm, watching him blaze around the room, his typically hidden emotions bubbling to the fore.  I felt every bit of his fury and frustration and fear.

 

“Warden,” I said quietly.  “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

He finally stopped and looked at me.  “This isn’t up for discussion -”

 

“I know,” I said, cutting across him.  “It’s not up for discussion. I’m staying.  And so is Michael.  And so are you.”

 

He stood there, stone still, and the defeat in his eyes nearly killed me.  Slowly, I crossed the room to stand before him.  “This is what she wants,” I said quietly, wresting the dress from his grip.  I threw it back on top of the box on the desk.  I looked up at him.  “She wants to force our hand, force us into moving before we’re ready.  She wants to spring our trap.  We can’t let her.”

 

I knew my words made sense.  And I knew he agreed, whether he wanted to or not.

 

He looked away and then back down at me.

 

“I can’t lose you,” he said.

 

I knew what it must have cost him to say those words.  I reached out and touched my hand to the center of his chest.  “Then stop trying to throw me away.”

 

“Paige - “

 

I didn’t allow him time to protest.  I let go of the sheet and placed a palm on either side of his face, pulling his head down to mine.

 

His lips were tender as he pressed them to mine.  His hands curled around my bare back, pulling me into his embrace.  This wasn’t the frantic need of two days ago.  This was an acknowledgement of the place I held in his life, and his in mine.  For however long we could have it.

 

He deepened the kiss as I unbuttoned his shirt.  As soon as the buttons were free, I skimmed the material back from his shoulders and pressed my bare front to his.  He wasn’t the willing observer of our last time.  He wanted, he _needed_.  He guided me backward until the backs of my knees made contact with the mattress.  Without a word, he scooped me into his arms and laid me in the bed.  I watched as he quickly removed his shoes and pants and then joined me in the bed.

 

This was different from last time.  Less frantic, but more raw.  Warden wasn’t humoring me or indulging in something he viewed as a personal weakness.  He needed.  His kisses, his touches were demanding and I was more than happy to comply.

 

He breathed my name against the shell of my ear as his hand found my sex, rubbing  and coaxing.  I didn’t need much urging.  My body had been on fire from the second I touched him.  His hand found my knees and gently urged them apart.  I ran my fingers through his coarse hair as he maneuvered between my thighs.

 

He stilled and I pressed a hard kiss to his full lips.  “Yes,” I said.  “Yes.”

 

He positioned himself at my entrance as my fingers bit into the flesh of his back, urging him not to wait.  He pushed forward.  I pulled my knees apart, back, urging him deeper.  

 

When he was finally inside me, he stilled.  He leaned down and pressed his forehead to mine.  I don’t know if the tears were mine or his.

 

He finally moved his head, positioning himself to kiss me deeply as one of his hands snaked between our bodies, finding the place where we were joined.  For someone who denied having consorted with humans previously, he possessed an absolutely wicked understanding of human anatomy.  

 

In moments, I was writhing, straining against him, panting as my flesh contracted around his.  His hips met mine in firm, deep strokes.  Release found me swiftly and I mindlessly clawed his back.  It had to have hurt, but his only acknowledgment was  a growl I could feel rumbling in his chest.  He didn’t prolong things.  As I was still fighting for breath, he buried himself deep inside me, his entire body taut.

 

Long moments later, I was curled against him, my back to his chest, his arm around my middle.  I ran my fingers over the callouses on his knuckles.  “Sorry,” I said, “about the scratches.”

 

He made a confused noise and propped himself up on his elbow.  I rolled backward so I could look at him.  “On your back,” I said.  “I scratched you while we were - “

 

He laughed soundlessly.  “I will proudly wear the marks of you pleasure, Paige Mahoney.”

 

I made a sour face and smacked him in the arm.  The scratches would undoubtedly be healed by nightfall.  “Fine,” I said.  “I won’t bother apologizing again.  It’s just that I hate being derivative.”

 

He frowned at me, urging me to roll over.  “While I do not doubt that Nashira took pleasure in my torture, hers are marks of bondage, not belonging.”

 

He rolled on his back and pulled me to his side.  I laid there, my head pillowed on his arm.  Lightly, my fingertips touched his chest.  “Is that what it means to you?” I asked quietly.  

 

He lifted his head off the pillow and looked at me in question.  

 

“Belonging?” I clarified.  “Is that what this means to you?”

 

He looked at me for a long time.  “Yes.”

 

I nodded.  I didn’t know what I had expected him to say, but I knew that answer made me feel seen.  In ways that were both terrifying and exhilarating.

  
END CHAPTER


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